


Fire and Ice

by Savageseraph



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Blood, Cold, Community: deancas_xmas, Demons, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Gore, Hell, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Memories, Sleep, Snow, Warm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean used to love the cold, but Hell changed that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **writing_raccoon** for the [](http://deancas-xmas.livejournal.com/profile)[**deancas_xmas**](http://deancas-xmas.livejournal.com/). Many thanks to [](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/profile)[**caras_galadhon**](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/) and [](http://kirby-crow.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://kirby-crow.livejournal.com/)**kirby_crow** for getting me through the tough spots and giving me jump starts when I got stuck.

The force of the explosion lifted Dean off his feet and threw him against a wall. Angel and demon mojo never played nice, and Dean was surprised they didn't bring the rotting warehouse down on his head when they slammed together hard enough to shake the frame of the already shaky building. Dean laughed weakly. _Warning: contents under extreme pressure. Combine at your own risk._ He shook his head, blinking against the spots that nibbled at his vision in the wake of the flash of light that accompanied the thunderclap of power.

Okay. So...he was conscious. Even though he ached in places he didn't know he had, conscious was good. He was alive, and alive trumped conscious any day of the week. After all, if he wasn't alive he wouldn't be able to enjoy the warm rain falling on his face. Dean closed his eyes, groaned softly, and remembered that it was December. It was December, and that meant frosty flakes, not warm droplets. Not that either of them had any business falling inside a structure that still had a roof.

Dean licked his lips, tasted copper and salt. His eyes snapped open, and he swiped his fingers across his cheek. They came away red. It was raining...red. It was raining goddamned _blood._

"Cas?" Dean struggled to his feet, his gaze frantically darting around the room. No demons. No angel. He was alone.

Dean turned in a circle, searching desperately for some sign of Castiel. " _Cas?_ Come on, dude. This isn't fucking funny." He jumped back as something hit his shoulder and tumbled to the floor in front of him. It was half of a pale hand with the two remaining fingers curled into a claw. " _Jesus Fucking Christ!_ " Dean glanced up at the ceiling that was slicked with gore and lumps of God only knew what waiting to drop. Dean managed to stagger to one of the exits before he threw up.

###

Even after cranking the heater in his motel room until the small unit rattled in protest, Dean couldn't stop shivering. He practically tore off his bloody clothes, trying not to think about the small fleshy bits--bits of Castiel???--that clung wetly to the flannel of his jacket. The shower spray was hot enough to make him wince as he stepped under it, scrubbing and rescrubbing until his skin was flushed and tender. While that was enough to wash away the gore, it didn't even come close to calming Dean's shaking. He slipped under the blankets from both of the room's beds and tried to get warm.

Dean used to love the cold, but Hell changed that. Sure, he still remembered good times when the wintry nip in the air meant snowball fights with Sammy and breaking melty icicles off trees and sucking on them like popsicles. Cold meant Icees chugged so fast Dean felt the twinge in his brain from their sugary slush or a perfectly chilled beer to cool a hot July night. Then Hell tainted those simple pleasures (and so many others) and made Dean afraid of the cold. Because despite all the bullshit about smoke and brimstone and lakes of fire, Hell was like the cold of a thousand arctic winters. There's a reason demons and some of the most damned souls can resist fire: they carry the bitterness of Hell inside them. Dean knew a splinter of it still lived inside him, waiting for him to give in to the numbness it promised. _No more doubt. No more pain._

No more hope.

That dark promise tempted Dean on more nights than he cared to admit, and giving in would be so easy, like letting go of an empty beer bottle and watching it fall and shatter.

###

The first sensation of warmth Dean remembered in Hell was the flare of heat from Castiel's touch. Okay, it was more than just warmth. It was all out white heat that burned through the cold, seared itself into his skin and into his soul. On bad nights, when he curled up in bed with the shakes and hoped Sam wouldn't notice, the warmth from the mark, the gentle pressure of being touched, was enough to calm him if he focused on it.

Tonight, it wasn't helping. The comforting tingle of the mark had faded, its power leeched away, and not that first shower or any of the three he took after it were able to rekindle its power. Maybe it was gone. Like Castiel. Maybe it was gone forever. Maybe Dean would be stuck with blue balls from frostbite forever. All of the above really sucked.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he curled into himself and murmured, "I need you, Cas...."

###

When Dean woke, he was shivering with the cold. He threw off the covers, and headed to the bathroom where he filled the tub with water hot enough to make his skin ache when he slipped into it. Maybe he needed to drink it, get it inside where it could fight the cold. He sank deeper into the water, wondering what would happen if the maid came in and found him frozen to death in the bathtub. With his luck, she'd probably be hot, maybe hot and working with her equally hot twin. Both of them would be wearing those little French maid getups with feather dusters, and he'd be lying in the tub, stiff in all the wrong ways to take advantage of the situation.

Dean's eyes slipped closed, and he drifted into sleep imaging the soft brush of feathers against skin as they trailed over his chest and teased his cock, which hardened under the stroking. The kiss that parted his lips wasn't as soft as he expected, and he groaned softly at the firmness of it, at the pressure of the fingers that curled around the back of his neck to hold him steady.

The shiver than ran through Dean had nothing to do with the cold as he thought, "I _need_ you, Cas...."

###

Dean groaned as he woke with a truly epic kink in his neck. Tubs were _not_ meant for sleeping in. Not unless a person wanted to wake up as achy and pruned as an arthritic Miami Beach granny with an aversion to sunscreen.

"It really isn't safe to sleep in the tub, Dean. You could drown."

" _Son of a bitch!_ " Dean bolted upright, sloshed water onto the floor, and blinked at the angel who, thank God, wasn't sitting on the toilet. Because that just seemed wrong somehow. Before he could consider why, Dean was out of the tub, slamming his body into Castiel's, gripping the lapels of his trenchcoat, and shoving him against the tile wall. "You son of a bitch. Where the hell were you? You weren't.... I thought...."

Castiel wrapped an arm awkwardly around Dean's shoulders, patted him. "It is...difficult to explain."

"Difficult?" Dean gave Castiel a shake. "I'll tell you what's difficult. Difficult is getting stuck in a body-part rainstorm. Difficult is not knowing what happened. Not knowing if you...."

"Angels are difficult to kill, Dean."

When Castiel's fingers brushed against the mark on Dean's shoulder, the contact sent a jolt through his body. He leaned heavily into Castiel, swallowed. "Difficult isn't impossible, Cas."

"No, it isn't." Castiel slid his other arm around Dean to support him. "I'm sorry to have caused you worry."

Dean nodded, not trusting his voice, not trusting anything except the warm, solid body against his. Not even the water dampening Cas's clothes dulled the heat Dean felt from him. _For him._ His fingers tightened, gripping Cas's shirt, then relaxing against his chest, feeling each breath.

"Dean...?"

Dean pushed back enough to grab Castiel's wrists, slide his fingers over hands that were whole. "How is this possible?"

"It was not my time." Castiel shrugged. "I am still needed for my Father's plans."

Cas's explanation sounded more like questions to Dean. "You don't really know, do you?"

Castiel frowned at Dean, then shook his head. "I don't."

"And that doesn't bother you? Even a little?" Dean growled. There wasn't much about the last day that didn't bother him, and being jerked around by asshole angels and douchebag demons topped the list of Things Pissing Off Dean Winchester. When Castiel opened his mouth to answer calmly and patiently, Dean knew that whatever Cas planned on saying would land him on the list. Instead of letting that happen, Dean brought his mouth down on Castiel's and pushed him against the wall. His hands tightened around Castiel's wrists as he rubbed against him.

Dean didn't want to break the kiss, didn't want to ever stop thinking about how he'd love to slide more than his tongue into Cas's warm mouth. How he'd wanted it and so much more ever since that first touch. He shivered as he felt Castiel responding, hardening against him.

It was Castiel who broke the kiss. "Dean...?" The word was breathless, slightly adrift. "What are you doing?"

"Kissing you." To prove his point, he kissed Castiel again, and this time the kiss, more urgent than the last, drew a soft moan from Castiel.

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to. Needed to." Dean groaned in frustration. "I need you, Cas. I fucking _need_ y--" He yelped in surprise as Castiel shook off his grip, slid his arms around Dean, and cupped his ass. Castiel squeezed firmly as he pulled Dean's hips harder against his.

"What is it you need?"

"I... I need...." The list of Things Dean Winchester Needed to Do With His Angel was even longer than the list of things that pissed him off, and concentrating on an answer was nearly impossible when Castiel was slipping an arm between them and undoing his pants so he could free his cock and press it against Dean's.

Castiel curled his fingers around their cocks. "I do too."

Dean's eyes closed as Castiel's fingers tightened around their shafts. He rocked into Cas's hand to rub more firmly against his cock, and fuck if Cas didn't make these hot little sounds that were somewhere between a gasp and a whimper as Dean ground against him. When Castiel rubbed just under the head of Dean's cock, Dean's toes curled. He couldn't remember a time when he was as achingly hard as he was right now or imagine one where he wouldn't crave Castiel's touch. "Cas...?"

There was no time to say more before Castiel kissed Dean with enough heat to drive away the last lingering shreds of the cold. The kiss also muffled the urgent moans they both made as they started rubbing against each other more deliberately. When Castiel slid his other arm around Dean and pressed just the tip of his finger into Dean, Dean started and cried out in surprise at the touch and at how much he needed more. His cock twitched as he came, and seconds later, he felt Castiel's do the same.

Dean let Castiel clean them off, then steer him toward and into the bed. Before he had the chance to miss Castiel's heat very much, Cas shed his own clothes, slipped into bed next to Dean, and wrapped an arm around his waist to tug him closer. It was impressive what the addition of an angel did to increase the comfort of a cheap motel bed. In fact, it was nothing short of miraculous.

Things might go to Hell in the morning, if they had the courtesy to wait that long, but until then, Dean intended to make the most of this time. Sighing contentedly, Dean settled against Castiel and basked in his heat.


End file.
